


The Marauders Get Sorted

by byebyebluejay



Series: Mischief Managed: Marauding Stories [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Express, Humor, M/M, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Mischief, Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy cameo guest apperance, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Sirius speaks French, The Sorting Hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byebyebluejay/pseuds/byebyebluejay
Summary: Remus, who has never had a friend in his life, is pretty terrified to pave the way as the first werewolf at Hogwarts in at least a century. After a very terrible train ride, he meets the three people fated to become his best friends. Someone takes the first of several naps on the Hogwarts Express, someone accidentally catches their clothes on fire, someone makes an ass of themselves in front of their future wife, and someone casts hexes under the house table.





	The Marauders Get Sorted

**Author's Note:**

> I describe Remus having what amounts to a panic attack getting onto the train. It made me feel weird and anxious writing it, so I figured I'd pop a warning up, just in case reading that sort of thing might bother you. Remus enjoys himself at the feast though! Our fav. werewolf will be fine and have many fun times.

The platform was a crush of people; so many more than Remus had ever experienced. There was no relief from the closeness and movement and smell of it all. The foul, ripe twang of owl droppings, hot metal, cat fur, two dozen different perfumes and half as many aftershaves, and below that, salt and sour, earthy humanity. The crowd had its own voice, too, and Remus was pulled from one conversation to the next in a nonsensical whirl. Even holding tightly to his mother’s hand (eleven was too old for that, much too old) he still felt lost in it all, nauseous. Panic building. Five minutes.

Most of the other girls and boys his age were clambering onto the train or saying cheerful goodbyes to their families. None of them were clinging onto their parent’s hand, and none of them looked as terrified as he felt. Logically, Remus knew that eleven-year-olds had gone to Hogwarts for hundreds of years. The vast majority had survived the experience and were no worse for wear. Most had even enjoyed it. Dumbledore himself had said that he would be surprised if Remus didn’t make friends at Hogwarts. But he wasn’t just any eleven-year-old. After all, _normal_ eleven-year-olds didn’t turn into mindless killing machines once a month. They didn’t have scars crisscrossing their faces and bodies. They hadn’t lived in seclusion their whole lives, without any friends at all. They weren’t monsters. So, holding his mother’s hand right now would not be the least of his social difficulties. 

“We’d better get your trunk on the train,” Lyall Lupin said, turning the cart towards the nearest door, “It should be leaving soon.” Remus’s stomach squeezed up into his throat, and he cast a glance at the platform clock. Four minutes. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back home. He could write an apology to Dumbledore. Even if the faculty was willing to accept him, he just couldn’t force himself on an unsuspecting student body. Yes, that sounded good. 

“There’s a sandwich and a few sickles for snacks in your bookbag,” Hope Lupin said, “And your father said the feast should start almost as soon as you arrive, so don’t worry about saving it. You shouldn’t be hungry.”

“Alright,” Remus said in a voice which felt nothing like his own. His father had unloaded the trunk into the train. Maybe not too late to tell his parents he’d changed his mind about the whole thing, This was just too risky. As though it mattered, anyway. As though anyone would hire him to do anything, even if he did graduate. Better off going to a muggle school, getting a muggle degree. 

“You’ll be fine,” His father said— _two minutes!_ —turning around and putting a hand on his shoulder, “Just be careful. Stay safe.” The platform was so loud. So loud and so hot. 

“Yes.”

“Have fun,” His mother said, peeling her hand out of his and pulling him into a hug, “You can always talk to your head of house or Madam Pomfrey if you need anything. Dumbledore said they would be happy to help. Or—you said they have owls, Lyall?”

“Yes, there are school owls. You can always write us. Study hard.”

“We’re so proud.” Remus buried his face in his mother’s shoulder, feeling moments from crying. He shouldn’t go. Couldn’t go. How long could he keep a secret this big from a school of hundreds? Was it even right to? The train whistle blew. Hope pulled away. “Come on, you’d better go load up your trunk and find a seat. We’ll miss you! We love you.” As though pulled by strings, Remus stepped onto the Hogwarts Express beside his trunk. Nearly all the students had already boarded, but he could still jump off now. It wasn’t too late. His parents were waving. Numbly, Remus waved back, feeling dread fall over him like a curtain as he turned, hefted up his trunk, and went to find a seat. It was too late. He wasn’t going to do it. 

By the sound of it, most of the front of the train was already full. Remus was in one of the last cars as it was, but he moved further back still, lugging his trunk along with him and gritting his teeth to keep back the tears. Glancing in each compartment he passed, he stopped at one that was nearly empty. Two much older girls, already dressed in Hogwarts uniforms, decorated with Slytherin’s silver and green, were sitting side by side in the middle of one of the compartment’s benches, apparently deep in conversation. One blonde, with a regal bearing, the other darker haired and softer eyed. There was no way they’d talk to him. Remus let himself into the compartment, nearly tripping over his own feet as the train lurched into motion. Then, feeling too ill to be embarrassed by a snort of laughter, Remus haltingly lifted his trunk up into one of the overhead compartments, dropped his bag on the free bench, and seated himself next to it. He couldn’t see his parents among the crowd still lagging on the platform as the train pulled out of the station. A good thing, probably. He took off his jacket and pressed his cheek to the cool glass of the window and tried very hard not to cry. “Should we know you?” The brown-haired girl asked, and Remus managed a shrug. 

“No, probably not.” The two girls exchanged glances. 

“That’s not the problem cousin, is it?” The first one whispered, softly enough that Remus was pretty sure most people wouldn’t have caught the words. The blonde girl pushed back her hair. 

“No. He’s not a Black.” That was the last thing Remus heard them say about him on the eight-hour ride. The sandwich went uneaten. The sickles went unspent. But at least after the first two hours of trying not to throw up or cry or melt into a boneless mass on the floor, Remus relaxed enough to fall asleep. 

The long nap after a sleepless night did him a world of good. Remus woke up to the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside and found that the countryside outside was dark. The sky was spangled with stars, with the mountains dark over them. He and the Slytherin girls weren’t alone in the compartment anymore. A tall boy with white-blonde hair and a prefect’s badge was chatting with his two housemates, and all three were now wearing their hats. They had to be close. Feeling more stiff than panicky, Remus changed silently into his robes and hat as well, then watched out the window as the train slowed and stopped in Hogsmeade Station. 

“Well, I have to go herd the first years,” The boy said, casting a cool glance at Remus, “Do you want me to take your trunk, Cissa?” 

“No, it’s fine, Lucius. Thank you.” Remus freed his trunk for the rack with a hard tug, managing to guide it just enough to prevent it landing on is toes as it hit the floor with a thud. Ignoring the reproving stares of the Slytherins, he pulled his trunk forward, out of the compartment and into the corridor. Most of the other students trundling out of the train were levitating their trunks. A few others—older, taller, broader-shouldered—were lifting theirs clear of the ground. But Remus also spotted younger students, who he guessed must be first years too, wrestling their trunks out of the train with equal difficulty. Feeling reassured he wasn’t quite as stupid as he felt, Remus lugged his trunk over to a pile on the platform, glad that here, at least, he could get some fresh air. Relieved of his burden, he looked around at the sea of students. Many were moving towards several dozen horseless carriages standing on the road beyond the train tracks, but some were also moving down the platform towards the largest man Remus had ever seen. He had a round, youthful face, an enormous amount of curly hair, and he was holding a lantern in his hand. 

“First years!” He called over the hats of even the tallest students, “Don’t be shy! Beautiful night fer sailing!” And Remus saw it: the castle twinkling on the opposite shore of a lake, its lights reflected in the water below. Nervous as he was, it was still probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Really pretty, isn’t it?” Said a boy beside him with a thick shock of pale hair and watery blue eyes, “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages!”

“I never really thought I would get this far,” Remus mused, voice small from eight hours of disuse and dehydration. 

“Muggleborn?” The other boy asked, and Remus shook his head. 

“No. I’m a half-blood. I—I guess I just always imagined my parents would want me to go to one of the smaller, private schools.” The first of many lies he would have to tell. Not so hard. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” The other boy said, scratching his ear as they walked down to the boats moored on the shore of the lake together, “Might be safer. I’ve heard lots of stories, you know, about Hogwarts. Scary stuff.” 

“There are good things too,” Remus said, sitting down next to the boy in one of the boats, confidence growing as the other faltered, “Some of the best teachers. Quidditch matches to watch. An enormous library. Secret rooms and passages to discover. Exploring will be fun.” 

“And Hogsmeade third year!”

“Assuming you can’t find a way there yourself before that,” Remus said, surprising himself as much as the other boy, who giggled nervously, before smiling at him and offering a chubby hand. 

“I’m Peter Pettigrew.”

“I’m Remus Lupin. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands as the boats pushed themselves off the shore and glided towards the castle. Compared to the horrible five minutes on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the boat trip was almost instantaneous. Before he knew it, Remus was ducking down under a curtain of ivy that disguised a tunnel in the cliff that rose up out of the lake under the castle, and then climbing up a set of stone steps, through a door, and into the enormous entry hall. And there were the magical portraits, the moving staircases, inviting doors and alcoves. It was more than Remus could have imagined, and he drank it in, unable to help his attention wandering to a pair of silvery ghosts drifting along twenty feet above his head even as a stern looking witch in ruby-red robes began prodding them into order. He got separated from Peter as a tall girl with violet hair got pushed forward between them. Someone trod on his foot in the shuffle and he came face to face with a tousle-haired, bright-eyed boy who grinned when they made eye-contact. 

“Sorry about that, mate. Merlin. You look like you already came out on top of a fight with a werewolf,” He whispered, showing nearly all of his teeth, “So if that’s what the sorting really is, you’ll probably have your pick of the houses. What are you hoping for?” Remus picked his heart up from somewhere around his knees. The boy had meant it as an off-handed remark, that was all. He swallowed, wet his lips. 

“I don’t know. Any one that will have me, I guess. But my father said it’s just a hat that sorts you.” 

“All of them would probably love to have you,” He said, elbowing Remus, smile not faltering, “I’m hoping for Gryffindor.” 

“I doubt that would suit me,” Remus murmured.

“Well, my friend here reckons he might wind up in Slytherin,” The other boy said, nodding to a boy with shoulder-length black hair and a proud nose, who was staring blankly at the doors to the Great Hall and looking rather ill, “So you might have at least one decent housemate if you get landed there.” 

“I don’t know if Slytherin would really—”

“I know that this is a very exciting time for all of you,” The witch at the front of the group said, eyes fixed on the two of them, “But if you could please pay attention, and put your hat on.” Remus fell silent at once, glancing across at the other boy, who was the only one in the whole group without a hat.

“Sorry, Professor McGonagall, it's in the lake,” The other boy said, looking not the least bit abashed. Professor McGonagall gave him a withering look, then turned.

“Right, then. Follow me, then. Everyone.” The doors to the Great Hall opened, and Remus entered with the rest of the flock of first years, gazing around at the beautiful room. The ceiling above was a mirror of the sky outside—a glittery expanse of stars—and below it, hung in midair, were several hundred candles. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, each under its own banner, and at the front of the hall on a dais was a fifth table, with Dumbledore sitting at the center. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but Remus was sure that he saw Dumbledore’s gaze land squarely on him. He shrank back under the (imagined?) observation, but was distracted from his nerves almost at once by the boy beside him, who was elbowing him again. 

“Your dad was right. It is a hat. Look.” Sure enough, Professor McGonagall was carrying an ancient wizard’s hat across the dais. She set it down on a four-legged stool, and within a few moments, a rip near the brim opened itself. And, without further warning, the hat began to sing. 

“I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And it’s my yearly task,  
To sort you into houses.  
‘What houses?’ you may ask.  
Slytherin and Gryffindor,  
Ravenclaw just the same,  
Hufflepuff brings us to four:  
Four houses with four names.  
And each and every one of you  
Will find where you belong,  
So long as you can wear a hat,  
You won’t be waiting long.  
For Slytherin the cunning ones,  
To Gryffindor the bold,  
Swift Ravenclaw prides cleverness,  
Hufflepuff: hearts of gold.  
Hogwarts has room for all of you,  
And warmth enough to share,  
If you’ve got magic in your bones,  
And brain room still to spare.  
So hurry now and worry not,  
New students and new friends,  
Just put me on and you will find  
That we can meet our ends.”

The hall erupted into applause as the hat finished its song, and the wild-haired boy next to him, laughing, leaned in close. “You didn’t tell me it could sing!”

“I didn’t know it sang,” Remus said, laughing too, despite himself. And then the hall was falling quiet as Professor McGonagall drew out a list of names. 

“When I call out your name, you will come forward, sit on the stool, and put on the hat to be sorted,” She said, and Remus heard the boy next to him whisper to his friend.

“Why would she make a fuss about my hat if we’re just going to be putting on that one, anyway?” But the boy looked just as nauseous as Remus had felt back in London and didn’t answer. Somehow, he was making it suit him, though. Remus couldn’t help but envy the determined jut of the boy’s chin and the steely look in his eyes. 

“Ali, Naia,” Professor McGonagall called, and a small, round-faced girl stepped forward to take her place on the stool. 

There was silence for a moment, then the rip near the brim of the hat tore open again, and then the hat cried out, “Ravenclaw!” The table under the blue and bronze banner burst into cheers, and the girl hastily rushed down off the dais and found a spot among the celebrating students. 

“Ashbridge, Adrian.” A boy with wire-rimmed glasses took to the stage and, after several moments of silence, he was sorted into Hufflepuff. 

“Black, Sirius.” The excited boy’s friend plucked off his hat, tossed back his hair and stepped forward, posture perfect and jaw tight as he seated himself on the stool. Curious, Remus watched him. There was a look of intense concentration on his face as the hat was placed on his head, and Remus was sure he saw him mouthing something. Or maybe not mouthing, considering the sharp look Professor McGonagall shot him. 

In the next second, the hat called out, “Gryffindor!” And with a whoop that Remus could hear even over the storm of applause from the Gryffindor table, Sirius snatched the hat off his head and punched the air. Professor McGonagall plucked the hat out of his clenched fist and Sirius, face alight with fierce victory, strolled off the stage like he had just been crowned king. Beside Remus, Sirius’s friend was whooping. 

Most of the other sortings passed with less excitement, with Remus counting down letters to his own surname. Though the sharpest edge of his nerves had dulled a lot, there was a new, absurd fear growing in him that maybe he’d put on the hat and it would remain silent. The mouth would fail to animate and eventually Professor McGonagall would declare there had been some mistake, and shuffle him off the stage. Or worse, much, much worse, the hat’s mouth would open and scream out ‘werewolf!’. Longbones, Oleander went to Slytherin, and then Professor McGonagall called out, “Lupin, Remus.” 

And just as he had been when he boarded the Hogwarts Express, Remus was propelled forward on invisible tracks. He heard the messy-haired boy hiss, “Good luck!” in his ear, and then he was breaking free of the dwindling crowd of first years. He was crossing the empty space up to the dais. He was climbing up the steps… Remus sat down on the stool, very aware of the hundreds of faces turned towards him. He plucked his hat off his head and closed his eyes as the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. His heart jumped when a soft voice spoke into his ears. 

“Well, you’re a tricky one. What should we do with you?” 

‘Put me anywhere that will have me,’ Remus thought back, ‘Anywhere at all.’ 

“We have to find a good fit,” The voice murmured, “Not Slytherin, I think. You’re cunning, but there’s no great ambition. Ravenclaw, maybe? But perhaps you’d rather not cut a path all your own, would you? Though you’ve done it all these years.”

‘Whatever you think. Hufflepuff, maybe?’

“Hufflepuff? You have a loyal heart, but patient? Valuing straightforwardness and fair play? No, I don’t think so. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor…” Surely he had been sitting on the stool for much longer than anyone else. He just wanted to get this over with—to seat himself at one of the tables. “You have nerve. Not so unwilling to bend the rules. And you’re brave. Alright, then. Gryffindor!” The decision boomed out across the Great Hall, and Remus stood up on weak legs to see the Gryffindor house table alive with applause. Leaving the Sorting Hat behind him, he hurried to an empty seat beside an older girl who clapped him on the shoulder. A space or two away, Sirius turned to him and winked. He looked much happier and less haughty now than he had when Remus had first seen him. It made all the difference in the world to the feeling in the air around him. Mary Macdonald and violet-haired Marlene McKinnon joined the Gryffindor table after Remus. Then Dorcas Meadowes was sorted into Ravenclaw. Evan Nash went to Slytherin. Devin O’Connor and Ruby Page went to Hufflepuff. Then, “Potter, James.” Sirius perked up a little in his seat as James took the stage with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face, making finger guns in the direction of the Gryffindor table as the Sorting Hat was lowered onto his head. It took barely a second. 

“Gryffindor!” James bounded off the stage, to join the table, plopping himself down between Remus and Sirius. 

“What did I tell you, mate?” He said to Sirius, punching him in the arm probably more enthusiastically than was necessary. Sirius lifted a hand to his arm, surprised, then punched James back just as hard. 

“Merlin,” James said, rubbing his arm, “Who taught you how to punch like that?”

“Classified pureblood secret.”

“I’m a pureblood!” 

“I have it on good authority that unless you’re one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and your parents are also your cousins, you don’t count,” Sirius said, arching his eyebrows at James. James snorted, but the two of them fell quiet because ‘Pettigrew, Peter’ had been called, and the blond boy that Remus had met in Hogsmeade had just had the Sorting Hat placed on his head. However long Remus had sat there in front of the school, it couldn’t have been close to how long Peter was sitting there. The silence in the hall became palpable, before gradually breaking into a soft sort of buzz. Sirius leaned in towards James again, and whispered, “Did it doze off or something?”

“Maybe Professor McGonagall should give it a little poke,” James said. And still the silence continued. The staff table began to shift with interest too, with only Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore maintaining stillness and indifferent calm. “It’s been five minutes. It should hurry up. I’m starving.” So was Remus, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning, and he was feeling it. The start of term feast his mother had mentioned sounded very inviting. 

Finally, the hat’s mouth opened again, and called out, “Gryffindor!” Remus joined in the rest of the table’s applause as Peter, white as a ghost, tottered down to the table to sit next to Mary Macdonald. The rest of the sortings proceeded much more quickly, and inside of fifteen minutes, ‘Zabini, Camilla’ had seated herself at the Slytherin table, and Dumbledore stood up. 

“Good evening and welcome students old and new. I have just one thing to say before the feast begins. Enjoy!” 

“Was that all?” Sirius said blankly as Dumbledore sat down, but the question was answered by the sudden appearance of mountains of food along the tables. 

“Apparently. You won’t hear me complaining!” James said, immediately reaching over to grab a steaming roll in either hand, dropping them a fraction of a second later over a crock of potatoes au gratin. “Merlin, that’s hot!” Remus hid his laughter behind a goblet of pumpkin juice, and Sirius nearly choked on his bite of roast beef. Another first year, a girl with long, dark red hair and shockingly green eyes, cast James a disparaging look, knocking the rolls out of the potatoes and onto the table with a deft flick of the serving spoon before helping herself. 

“Come on, Evans. Don’t be like that,” James said, retrieving his rolls with the tips of his fingers and cramming his mouth full of most of one, “W’ousem’ts now.” 

“What?”

James chased the bread down with a gulp of water, “We’re housemates. Merlin, those are scorching.” Evans (Lily?), gave James a long, blank stare, before turning to introduce herself to Marlene. 

“Really smooth,” Sirius said, doling out roasted mushrooms onto his plate. Catching Remus watching him, he nudged the handle of the spoon in his direction, and Remus, feeling his face getting hot, quickly took it. Like a cat, sudden movement seemed to be enough to catch James’s attention. 

“Hey, it’s you again!”

“It’s me,” Remus said, spearing a mushroom he didn’t really want on the end of his fork. 

“So, are you planning on telling us how you got those sca—ouch!” He cast an accusing glance first at Sirius, who was rearranging mushrooms on his plate with his fork, then to Peter, across the table from him, who quailed away. 

“What?” Peter asked looking to either side and then behind him, like he expected whatever had offended James was lurking there.

“I think someone cast a stinging hex at me!” 

“I wouldn’t even know how,” Peter said, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” James said, looking under the table before turning his attention back towards Remus, “Your name is Remus, right? I’m James.” 

“That’s right. Nice to meet you,” Remus shook his hand, distinctly aware that now he had shaken more hands today than he had at any other point in his life. Not that two should have been any sort of record-breaking number.

“So, I wanted to ask earlier, how did you get those—ouch! Merlin! What’s biting me?” Remus was more than grateful for the timing of whatever was bothering James, but he couldn’t claim a lick of responsibility. He shook his head, nonplussed, as James pulled his leg up onto the bench and rolled up his trouser to peer at something that Remus couldn’t see. “Stinging hex! Who’s doing that?” 

“Ooh. Looks nasty,” Sirius said, shifting in his seat to study the marks, “Put a bit of honey on it. Works every time.” As James leaned forward to grab a pot of honey sitting by a tea set, Sirius leaned backwards, catching Remus’s eye, “You a fan of Quidditch at all? James’s family scored tickets for the World Cup in Spain. Ils coûtent les yeux de la tête, but apparently nothing is too good for the son of Sleekeazy.” He gave James a grin, and James, looking up from his work of tending to his wheals, dribbled honey down his sock in his eagerness to explain every maneuver, every formation, every brutally hit Bludger of the game. And Remus, though he’d never actually seen a quidditch game, hung on his every word. Peter caught the sleeve of his robes on fire with a flaming kiwi cup, Marlene ribbed Sirius for his ‘errant and arrogant use of French’, and by the time the feast was over and Remus was heading up to his new common room with the rest of the Gryffindors, with James complaining about his sticky sock, he couldn’t help but think maybe Dumbledore had been right. Maybe he would make friends at Hogwarts after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize only now, ages later, that Pettigrew is before Potter in the alphabet. Whoooooooops nevermind me...


End file.
